


Shot on Location

by MsRookroll



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsRookroll/pseuds/MsRookroll
Summary: “Would you put me in one of your films?”“That depends. Are you easy to work with?”“No.”“Good. I like a challenge.”Ever since their first meeting in the Capitol, Cressida hasn’t been able to forget about Johanna Mason. Now, as the two are reunited in District 13 during the Rebellion, she realizes the victor hasn’t forgotten about her either.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Cressida/Johanna Mason
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was supposed to be a fun —short— what if these two characters met, but it somehow spiraled out of control because I realized I really liked them together, so here we are. I hope it is as fun to read as it is to write. Any comments are welcomed and thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> Greetings from Colombia!

Everything was white. The background, the chairs, the dresses, the suits and the shoes, there was so much white, Cressida’s eyes stung when the images flashed on the screen. It was the same screen they used to see their own propos, the highest resolution available in all of District 13. Plutarch leaned in closer when Peeta spoke. He must have been saying something important, but Cressida was too focused on Johanna’s face to hear the words. There she was, the District 7 victor, with vacant eyes and a hideous blonde wig. They didn’t even know how to properly light her face, so it was easy to see the bags under her eyes. Cressida’s mind rushed back to the moment she first met Johanna Mason.

Silas, insufferable as he might have been, did know how to light Johanna’s face. He had fought to have some natural lightning, so instead of taking the pictures in the first floor of the studio as usual, they went to the second one, in order to stand by the huge window panes. Of course, there had been opposition at first. The Capitol deemed ‘natural’ was too close to ‘earnest’ for comfort, and thus, too dangerous. However, Silas fought so hard, they allowed a couple of shots by the windows, just to humor him, for originally, they didn’t intend to use any of those pictures.

The triumph spoke of both Silas’s standing in the Capitol and his stubbornness. He was obsessive about his vision, Cressida had soon realized it and wasted no time contradicting him. He had been elated ever since he heard he would be taking the victor’s pictures. Cressida couldn’t blame him for it, though. Just as all of Panem, she had not been able to look away from Johanna during her Games. Her storyline was brilliant. The humiliation of having fallen for her rouse, was subdued by the sheer excitement of her transformation and her natural charm. Especially after the previous year’s fiasco, the Capitol was starved for a victor like her: smart, brutal, beautiful. It was no wonder they were eating her up. Looking at her in the studio did nothing to diminish the halo that followed her around, on the contrary, it seemed to crystalize it.

They had styled her as an ancient goddess for the shoot: extremely tall high heels with golden straps around her ankles, a flowing dark green dress, and a golden band around her forehead evoking a wreath or a crown. The ensemble hadn’t been fashioned by the District 7 stylist, as evidenced by its cleverness. In a very deliberate decision, two matching golden bracelets covered Johanna’s wrists, like shackles, but instead of chains, from them hung gilded chiffon. A beautiful reminder that Johanna Mason belonged to them now.

She was towering next to Silas, who was inspecting the light cascading from the window. With his usual disregard for his model’s personal space, he grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her from one spot to another. He didn’t seem to notice the deathly glare Johanna was giving him, or if he noticed he definitely didn’t care because he proceeded to take her chin between his fingers and move her face to the side. Johanna pulled away from his touch brusquely. Silas scolded her for not staying still and went to grab her face again with more force this time. Cressida noticed Johanna’s hand clenching into a fist, and stepped in just before the inevitable punch could come.

“Sir, you’re needed downstairs,” she told him, pretending to be hearing something through her earpiece. “They want to make some changes to the wardrobe.”

“Those beasts! The dress is exquisite!” Silas complained angrily. “Check the light, child,” he instructed, handing her the camera and walking away

“Seems like I just saved a life,” Cressida said, before looking at Johanna. “It looked like you were about to murder him.”

Johanna’s frown was replaced by a half smile and a snicker.

“Must be his lucky day.”

Cressida then prepared the camera.

“So, you’re a photographer too?” Johanna asked, rather uninterested.

“A film director, aspiring.”

“A film director, wow,” Johanna replied mockingly. “Hard work.”

“Exhausting,” Cressida replied, raising the camera and looking through it. “Step to the right please. Have you considered acting? You’d look good on film. A bit more to the right. Plus, you clearly have a knack for it.”

Through the camera’s lens, Cressida saw Johanna smirk.

“Would you put me in one of your films?”

“That depends. Are you easy to work with?”

“No.”

“Good. I like a challenge.”

With a few clicks, Cressida captured Johanna’s smile. She wasn’t pleased with the light and knew Silas would hate it, so she placed the camera down and walked towards the window.

“So, when are you going back to seven?” Cressida asked, as she opened the window.

“As soon as they let me. I’m not staying a single moment here if I don’t have to. No offense.”

“None taken,” Cressida replied. “The Capitol can be a bit much.”

Cressida tried to appear unfazed by the comment, but she was quite startled by the victor’s bluntness. There was absolutely no attempt from Johanna to hide her contempt for the Capitol. But why would she, though? It was quite evident she didn’t think much of the Capitol or anyone in it, her very strategy would not have worked if she thought they’d be smart enough to spot the lie. No wonder Plutarch had Johanna on his radar, she’d be a fine asset for the Rebellion. Cressida wondered if he had approached Johanna already. She doubted it, though. He rarely recruited victors in the same year of their Games.

“You know what I really hate” Johanna continued, perhaps testing how far she’d be able to go. “I hate the way you talk. ‘Exquisite’ this, ‘splendid’ that, I swear if I hear another fucking ‘divine’, I’m going to barf.”

Cressida smiled as she raised the camera again. Yeah, at the moment, Johanna was the Capitol’s golden child, they were crazy about her, and she knew she could get away with a lot. However, even if underestimating them during the Games had saved her life, doing the same now that she was in a completely different arena was a dangerous game to play. Cressida knew that quite well.

“You know,” Johanna continued, “I never thought I’d actually miss trees, fucking trees, but I do. Have you ever been to District 7 or any district for that matter?”

“Not in seven, but I’ve been to some of the inner ones” Cressida replied, as she took some pictures.

“Filming?”

Cressida nodded and added:

“I was in twelve once, briefly.”

The images flashed though her mind: protruding ribs through tattered dresses, open scabs covered in soot, fresh blood on a peacekeeper’s boot.

“They usually use a fake screen for the outer districts,” Cressida explained. “So they almost never bother with actually going.”

Johanna snickered.

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Plus,” Cressida continued as the camera clicked, “the screen is the only way to get any shots of people smiling there. It’s either that or editing out the peacekeepers’ guns pointing at their heads.”

Cressida stopped herself. The words had slipped from her lips before she could even realize it. Words like those should not be said out loud in the Capitol or anywhere in Panem really, others had been executed for less. Cressida grew quiet as she heard footsteps approaching. Hopefully, Silas had not heard anything. He was too self-absorbed to listen to anyone else, that was one of the few things Cressida liked about working for him.

Without saying a word, the photographer snatched the camera from Cressida’s hands. She instructed Cressida to adjust the golden band around Johanna’s forehead, for it was slightly crooked. Cressida nodded. As she approached the victor, she felt Johanna’s gaze following her. Electric, so much so, it felt like the touching the bracelet would send sparks down Cressida’s spine. It did not, but seeing Johanna’s piercing eyes up close certainly did.

“Move, child, we don’t have all day, do we!” Silas exclaimed. Cressida finished fixing the band and stepped back. 

Regardless of what Silas asked of her, a mischievous smile, a solemn and distant look, a fierce frown, the electric spark in Johanna’s eyes remained. Looking at those eyes, it was hard to believe Johanna was ever able to convince them that she was a helpless fool. And those same electric eyes kept straying over Cressida. Was she imagining it? Was it another of the victor’s ploys? Could all that disdain for the Capitol be a simple façade to trick the real rebels? It was hard to tell, and even harder to care when those eyes stumbled upon Cressida’s. Only when Silas asked her to hold the camera for a moment did Cressida realize how much her hands were sweating.

He then knelt and asked Johanna to look longingly out the window. She made no effort to hide a mocking smile as she faced the window. However, the smile disappeared when Silas said: “Think of home”. For a brief moment something changed in her eyes, and Cressida could swear there was real sorrow there.

“Yes! Yes!” Silas celebrated as the camera clicked. “Divine, simply divine, darling!”

Cressida couldn’t hold back a laugh, which she was forced to hide as a coughing fit, and then she and Johanna exchanged a playful look. Silas, though annoyed, couldn’t complain because it was in that brief instant that he took the picture that would appear in the cover of every magazine during the following days.

Once he was satisfied with the shots, Silas instructed Cressida to lead Johanna to the changing room. Cressida nodded and walked down to the studio’s first floor with the victor. Johanna stopped, without warning she placed a hand on Cressida’s shoulder, and used it to steady herself as she removed her high heels.

“You haven’t told me your name,” Johanna said, undoing the straps on her ankle.

“Cressida,” she replied, wondering if Johanna would be able to tell how much she was blushing.

“I know. I’m not deaf, I heard him say it,” Johanna concluded, finally holding both shoes in one hand. “I just think it was fucking rude not to tell me.”

“You didn’t tell me yours either.”

Johanna scoffed, and smiled.

“That’s because I’m fucking rude. C’mon, take me to that dressing room, the sooner I get out of this monstrosity, the better.”

“It’s not so bad,” Cressida replied as they kept walking. “You could be dressed as a tree.”

Johanna laughed and before stepping into the changing room, she stopped to look at Cressida for a moment.

“Nice tattoo.”

“It goes all the way to my head.” Cressida explained, for back then her hair covered the tattooed vines completely.

“Is that so?” Johanna said as she unexpectedly ran her fingers through Cressida’s hair to take a look. “Cool.”

They were exceedingly close now, their noses barely touching. Cressida’s heart raced violently, and though every fiber of her body seemed to beg her to lean over and kiss the victor, she froze completely. Johanna smirked and turned around. She stepped into the dressing room, disappearing behind its purple velvet curtain.

Shit. Cressida knew she had made the right choice, the rational choice. There could have been a scandal, it could have been a trap. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself and kissing a victor, no, not any victor, but Johanna Mason, was a terrible way to stay unnoticed. She knew that, and yet, all she could think about was that, in a few moments, Johanna would walk out of the dressing room and leave. She’d walk away, and Cressida would be forced to imagine what kissing her lips would have been like. What if, what if, what if, there are not many words as bitter.

“Do you need me to undress you?” Cressida asked abruptly. She immediately regretted her words, so stupid, so blunt. She tried to correct them. “With the gown, I mean, do you need help with the gown?”

There was no answer. Cressida rubbed her temples, and was about to walk away, when suddenly Johanna opened the curtain. Then she turned around to give her back to Cressida.

“The fucking brooch.”

Cressida stepped into the dressing room, and closed the curtain behind her. Cressida fumbled slightly with the brooch as they both pretended it wasn’t within Johanna’s reach. When the brooch came undone, the dress slid slightly, revealing a nasty purple, black and green bruise that stretched across Johanna’s back. Gently, Cressida ran her fingers over it, as if to check it was real. Johanna turned around brusquely, but before Cressida could apologize, the victor kissed her. Cressida gladly kissed her back. Then there was another kiss, and another, wandering hands, a kiss on the neck, a slight biting of the lips.

Electric, like the air before the storm. Brief, just as footsteps reminded them they were risking too much. Melancholic, as it’d be the last time they saw each other in person.

That was it: kissing in a dressing room. That was all, that was the extent of their relation, and yet, when Cressida looked at Johanna on the screen something sank deep within her chest. The spark that had been present in those blue eyes, even when she pretended to be weak, was gone now that she pretended to be strong.

“When’s the rescue mission leaving?” Cressida asked Plutarch, speaking over whatever was being said in the video.

“They already left,” he replied with his eyes fixed on the screen.

His answer did not bring the solace Cressida expected, for looking at the screen she feared they were already too late.


	2. Chapter 2

_The mind often wanders when we need it the most, Jojo,_ those were her father’s words. Her mother, always opted for a more direct approach: _Snap the fuck out of it, Johanna!_ Strapped to the stretcher, Johanna heard her family’s voices once again, just as the water went up her nostrils and burnt her throat. Her body recoiled just as the jolt of electricity made it feel like someone was ripping her backbone through her flesh.

Pain had swallowed everything. There was no time, no sense of space, of self, just a body being shred. But then, the voices would come just at the air left her lungs, and the water crept inside her ears. _Hang on, hang on, loser,_ her brother said, _don’t give up just yet._ Then electricity. She thrashed violently, making the handcuffs cut down her skin. The water was reddened with the blood. There was another shock or maybe it was still the same as before, but it made no difference to her body which trembled violently. _Don’t dare fucking dying, Johanna._ But everything was turning black. _Don’t die now, Jojo, just hold on._

Johanna woke up desperately gasping for air, her eyes hurting from the sudden exposure to light.

“You’re safe, you’re safe” a voice said. “You’re not in the Capitol anymore.”

Johanna’s eyes were still adjusting to the light, she couldn’t quite see her surroundings. However, she guessed this was a new tactic from her captors, a new form of torture. The blurry room came into focus slowly. A hospital room, different to the one she had spent the last weeks at. However, she wasn’t falling for the Capitol’s ploy, not that easily. She moved her arms about, and tried to stand up.

“Morphling, and bring the antibiotics.” The voice commanded. “Johanna, you’re in District 13.”

She tried to push the people around her away. Her arms felt heavy and clumsy, but she couldn’t tell if they were restrained or not.

“Johanna, please, you need rest. Johanna, stop! Up the doses! Up the doses!”

A warm feeling spread through her neck, and up to her head. The room spun slightly and she felt a pleasurable numbness before the world went back to black. She drifted in and out of consciousness, but only when she spotted Katniss on the neighboring bed did she confirm she wasn’t in the Capitol anymore.

 _I didn’t fucking die,_ Johanna thought _._ Dying would be failing her family a second time. However, now she had to live, and living in Panem was much more difficult than dying. Without the adrenaline, all her wounds began to ache. The doctors told her she had a broken rib and a torn ankle, but it was really her throat and lungs what worried them. They didn’t mention how messed up her mind was, but she knew that already. She couldn’t close her eyes without fearing she might wake up back in the Capitol, so the only way to get some rest was through the Morphling, and sometimes that wasn’t enough.

The following morning, she woke up screaming, convinced the water was filling her lungs, preparing for the shock, shaking, heaving.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t Katniss’s voice, but it was oddly familiar. Yet, only when Johanna steadied her breathing and looked at the woman sitting by her bed, did she recognize Cressida.

“You’re safe,” she said in a low soothing voice. “Well, as safe as possible, given the circumstances.”

Cressida. Cressida the film director, aspiring.

It was nice to find a familiar face, especially one that was so nice to look at. Cressida looked just like she had a few years back, perhaps even better. She had shaved half of her head, exposing the bright vines inked on her skin, while her golden her cascaded over her shoulder. Her blue eyes had gained a new fierceness. Johanna had heard the film director was in the Rebellion, but she didn’t expect to find her there. Johanna tried to say it, say anything at all, but her voice came out as a raspy growl.

“I’ll get you some water,” Cressida said.

“N-no” Johanna managed to say.

As Cressida looked at her, Johanna become painfully aware of her own appearance: skinny, shaved, battered and bruised, all traces of the woman she had been before were gone. Cressida had noticed it too, Johanna could tell by the way the director was looking at her wounded wrists.

“Stop that,” the victor grunted, sitting up on the bed. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

Cressida paused but said nothing at all.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Johanna asked.

The question made Cressida blush slightly.

“I heard you were here, and I thought… uhm… I could drop by to… check-up on you, I guess.”

“I meant here in Thirteen,” Johanna said with a smirk. Entertained and slightly endeared by the film director’s poor attempt to hide her awkwardness.

“Oh. I’m shooting the Mockingjay.”

“You’ll have to get in line, I think everyone wants to shoot her these days.”

Cressida smiled.

“Is she a good roommate?”

“Could be worse. Is she a good actress?”

“Well…”

“That bad?”

“We rarely ask her to act anyway.”

“So it’s all real, huh?”

“She’s the real deal, she can be very inspiring. I think we’ve gotten some great propos out there. I might put you in one of them.”

“The only thing I can inspire right now is pity.”

“Please, haven’t you heard? Shaved heads are all the rage now,” Cressida replied pointing at her own. “And that worn hospital gown? Divine, simply divine, darling.”

Johanna laughed, the first real laugh in a long time. Cressida’s quick remarks were what caught Johanna’s attention in the first place. Well, that and that obvious beauty of hers. But with only a few words, the film director had proven to be one of the few people in the Capitol who had something to say worth listening to.

“Back when we met,” Johanna said, “were you already working for the Rebellion?”

Cressida nodded.

“Makes sense.”

“When did you start?”

Johanna’s throat tightened immediately, and her smile disappeared at once.

“After I lost my family.”

“Shit, sorry.”

Johanna shrugged.

Finnick had told her once that Heavensbee usually approached victors shortly after they lost their first mentees. In Johanna’s case both events were almost simultaneous. In a stroke of the Capitol’s cruel brilliance, they decided to attack Johanna’s family when she was completely focused on keeping the District 7 tributes alive. And so, during the beginning of the Games, as Johanna watched her mentees run towards the cornucopia, the peacekeepers were barging into the Victor’s Village to burn down her house with her family in it.

“‘Lost’,” Johanna scoffed. “It sounds fucking stupid, like they were a pair of keys or some shit. I didn’t _lose_ my family, they were fucking murdered. You know, when Heavensbee came to me, I told him I’d be happy to join, but there was something I wanted in return.”

“What?”

“The names and locations of every single one of the bastards who did it.”

“Did he give them to you?”

“Not yet. I guess I’ll have to remind him to keep his end of the deal.”

“Most of them might be dead already.”

Johanna took a deep breath, her heart raced as it often did whenever she thought of avenging her family. She then looked straight into Cressida’s eyes.

“Be honest with me,” she said, “how are we doing out there? Do we have a chance?”

“The response from the Districts is something I’ve never seen before. I think we have a chance, but I try not to be _too_ optimistic just yet.”

“I’m training to fight.”

“Of course you are,” Cressida smiled, shaking her head slightly. “It’s a miracle you’re alive and you’re already thinking about fighting.”

“What else would I be thinking about? The image of that white-haired motherfucker choking on his own blood is what keeps me going.”

“And then?”

“Then?” Johanna repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“If this is really over, what’ll you do next?”

Johanna was silent. For years she had fantasized about Snow’s death, and though she had envisioned second by second his last moments, it had never occurred to her there would be a day after. In all honesty, she’d probably be dead by then.

“Doesn’t matter,” she replied. “All I want is to see the bastard die.”

Cressida nodded silently.

“What about you?” Johanna asked. “What are you going to shoot if we make it through this?”

“I suppose I’ll be traveling across Panem, and then they’ll probably need me to film some speeches and propos for the new government.”

“Speeches and propos. No films?”

“It’s hard to come up with stories after there’s been so much death, but I guess there is one film I’d like to make…”

Cressida trailed off, Johanna looked at her beckoning her to go on.

“I’d like to do something that reminds people to do whatever they can to make sure none of this shit ever happens again.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Yeah, I know one film won’t do it, but—”

“No, not just a film, nothing will stop this from happening again. Sure, during the next few years it probably won’t, but fifty years from now, a hundred, there’ll be a new asshole in power and then war and then another and so on.”

“That’s a merry thought,” Cressida smiled.

Johanna smiled and. shook her head.

“What do I know?” she said. “Make that film anyway, if anyone can come up with something good, it’s probably you.”

“Liar,” Cressida smirked.

“What?”

“You have never seen my work.”

“I don’t have to. I’m a good judge of character. When I first saw you, for instance, I could tell right away that there was something different. You weren’t like those other idiots from the Capitol.”

“Really? Is that why you were flirting with me?”

“Oh, _I_ was the one flirting with you? Cressida, you literally asked to undress me.”

The film director blushed violently, which made Johanna laugh, and Cressida joined her. Before either of them could speak, a man knocked on the door and poked in. He had blue eyes and his blond hair was tied in a bun. Johanna didn’t recognize him, but Cressida did. Without saying a word, he pointed at his watch and then jerked his head to indicate it was time to go.

“Yeah, I’m coming, Pollux,” Cressida replied, standing up. The man nodded and waved goodbye to Johanna before walking away.

“Work calls?”

“It does.” Cressida replied, as she walked towards the door. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ll… see you later?”

“You know where to find me.”

Cressida nodded and turned to leave, but Johanna called her just before she could exit the room. Cressida paused and faced her.

“Take care out there,” Johanna said.

Cressida nodded and smiled before leaving the room.

* * *

Between Johanna’s training and Cressida’s work, they had but a few moments to share. Nevertheless, every stare across the cafeteria and every brief wave down the corridors was exciting, there was a certain comfort in the nearness however distracting that nearness turned out to be. It only took a glimpse at Cressida walking down the corridor for Finnick to pin Johanna down as they wrestled. The victor cursed loudly, furious that she let herself get distracted.

“You like her, don’t you?” Finnick asked suddenly as he stood up and offered his hand to Johanna.

“What are you talking about?” she replied, taking his hand to stand up.

“Can’t blame you, she does have pretty eyes,” Finnick said, looking at the corridor were Cressida had been, before looking back at Johanna. “Pretty sure she likes you too.”

“Fuck off,” Johanna replied, wiping off the sweat with a towel. “Unlike you, most of us don’t have time for that bullshit in the middle of a fucking war.”

“Speaking of which, come I want to show you something.”

“C’mon we have to keep training,” Johanna protested, but Finnick ignored her and grabbed her arm for her to follow.

Johanna sighed loudly, but followed along. There was no use in arguing with Finnick whenever he got like that, giddy and stupid like a schoolboy. He took her to his room and from a trunk her took some clothes which he unfolded over the bed. A pair of greyish trousers and a matching jacket perfectly steamed and spotless.

“It’s for the wedding,” he said. “Not the most glamourous, but I think it’ll do. Do you think Annie will like it?”

“Finnick, you could come out wearing a potato sack and Annie would like it,” Johanna replied. “I don’t know why, but that girl really loves you.”

He smiled and placed an arm over Johanna’s shoulder.

“You’ll be my best man, right?”

“But I’m not making any speeches.”

“Fair,” Finnick replied.

He remained quiet for a moment, his smile faded slowly, as he faced Johanna.

“Jo, if something happens to me when we’re out there—”

“Don’t start with that crap, Finnick.”

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Annie.”

“Don’t talk like that, alright? We’ll go out there and do whatever it takes to stay alive,” Johanna replied. “We made it this far already, it’s gonna take them a lot to get rid of us now.”


	3. Chapter 3

Silas had been right when it came to natural lightning. Some actual windows would have been perfect to really capture the moment in which Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta were declared husband and wife. Of course, there was no such thing as a natural light within an underground bunker, but at least the dim amber light that washed over the bride and groom was a good alternative, it made the flowers pop, but it made it hard to appreciate the details in Annie’s dress. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed in the editing room.

Cressida found herself smiling along as she watched the ceremony through her camera. She nearly ruined one of the shots when she forgot about the camera at all and tried to clap during their kiss. When the dancing began she made sure to cover the couple, to cover Coin, to follow Katniss and to get several shots of the soldiers as they had a genuine moment of joy. However, her camera had the tendency to stray and linger on Johanna Mason. Another thing Cressida would have to fix later in the editing room.

To her surprise —and relief— Johanna seemed to be enjoying herself. The victor had been rather bitter since she was told she couldn’t join the squad that would go into the Capitol. Her frustration was understandable, after all, she had spent the last of couple of days pushing her body to its limits, only for her mind to stand on her way. Cressida went to find her when she heard Johanna had failed her trial. She found the victor punching one of the dummies for the test. One punch after the other, without stopping, a primal motion that made the world around her disappear. Johanna didn’t even seem to notice her own bruised knuckles and the blood trickling down her fingers. Cressida watched in silence, for she knew there was no point in stopping her. Instead, she went to find some ice. When she returned, Johanna had finally stopped and stood panting in silence. Only when Cressida walked towards her, did she seem to notice she wasn’t alone.

“Hand,” Cressida said.

“I’m fine,” Johanna replied, taking in several deep breaths.

Cressida looked at Johanna’s bruised knuckles.

“It’s going to swell. Hand.”

With a sigh, Johanna placed her hand on Cressida’s and grimaced slightly as the director pressed the ice against her skin. Without pulling apart, they sat down on a nearby bench. Johanna sighed deeply. They remained silent for a while, before Johanna let out a sigh and rested her head on Cressida’s shoulder.

After all of that, it was nice to see Johanna smiling at the wedding, even laughing as she hugged Finnick. Cressida was looking at her through the camera, when she felt a gentle push. When she looked up, she found Pollux smiling mischievously. He mimicked dancing and then gestured at Johanna with this head.

“I’m not asking her to dance,” Cressida replied.

“Why not?” Castor intervened. “In a few days we might all be dead anyway.”

Cressida pursed her lips slightly. Was her… infatuation with the victor that evident? She had never spoken a single word about it, but there was no need, apparently her entire crew had noticed she quite liked spending time with the victor. Maybe Castor was right. Dancing had never been her forte, not even in the days of her mother’s lavish parties in the Capitol, but that didn’t seem to matter much, considering this could be the only chance she had to dance with Johanna. A simple rejection would probably sting less than wondering what if, what if, what if.

“Shit,” Cressida sighed. “Will you hold my camera?”

Pollux nodded enthusiastically, as the director handed him the device.

“Don’t you dare film me,” she warned them, even though she knew they would do so anyway. She was about to walk away, when Messalla grabbed her by the arm.

“Wait just a minute, young lady” he said, “I can’t let you go like that, all busted.”

“Oh c’mon, it can’t be that bad.”

“Shush, it’ll just take a minute,” he replied, and pulled her under one of the lights.

Then, from a little pouch, he took some foundation and eyeliner. Messalla knitted his eyebrows as he began applying the makeup. Cressida let him work, but couldn’t help to fidget slightly.

“Someone’s nervous,” he taunted her with a singsong tone.

“I’m not,” Cressida replied. “It’s just… I’ve never asked a girl to dance before.”

“Well neither have I,” Messalla laughed. “Look up. But I’m sure it can’t be worse than fighting in a freaking war, can it? Alright, let me look at you, oh yes, stunning! Now _that’s_ a face no one could say no to. Go now, go.”

“Thank you, Sal.” Cressida gave him a kiss on each cheek, and then made her way through the crowd.

The wedding party was drastically different to the ones she had attended to in the Capitol, from the guests’ plain jumpsuits to the music, it had nothing to do with extravagant dresses and the tables overflowing with food. The film director didn’t mind at all, especially when she spotted Johanna who was watching the dancers in silence. As Cressida approached she realized her palms were sweating and she actually wished she had a paid some attention to the dancing classes her mother had forced her to attend. However, she made an effort to appear calm, suave even. Upon noticing her, Johanna smiled.

“So,” Cressida focusing on the dancers instead of Johanna’s bright eyes, “you’re really not going to ask me for a dance?”

That seemed to take Johanna by surprise. The victor looked at Cressida, perhaps in attempt to determine whether the film director was serious or not.

“Thought you were busy,” Johanna replied looking back at the dancers.

“I happen to have a break right now.”

“Is that so?”

Before Cressida could say anything, Johanna grabbed her hand and led her to the dancefloor.

“I warn you though,” Johanna said as they walked, “I don’t know shit about dancing.”

“Look around,” Cressida replied with a smile, “no one does.”

Johanna smiled too and placed a hand on Cressida’s shoulder, while Cressida grabbed Johanna’s waist. Cressida followed the beat the best she could, and hoped not to step on Johanna’s feet

“I never thanked you for… the ice,” Johanna said. 

“How are your hands?” Cressida smiled.

“Fine, just a bit bruised.”

There was a silent pause, the music swelled and it was becoming slightly easier to keep up with the rhythm.

“You know what it was?” Johanna asked. “What fucked me during the test?”

Cressida shook her head. She had heard it had been some sort of panic attack, but she didn’t know much else.

“Water,” Johanna continued. “Fucking water. I was doing great until they flooded the place. That’s just… it’s pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic, it’s normal.”

Johanna looked at her, confused.

“Well what else was supposed to happen after what they did to you?” Cressida continued. “Torture works, that’s why they do it.”

“I can’t spend the rest of my life scared of water.”

“And you won’t, but it’s going to take some time,” Cressida replied. “Meanwhile, I have something that might cheer you up.”

Johanna looked at her, intently.

“I talked to Beetee,” Cressida continued “and he said he might be able to get you the names you want.”

Johanna’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Might. He said he _might_ be able to.”

“Fuck yeah,” Johanna celebrated regardless, she smiled and locked her eyes on Cressida’s. “Thank you.”

There was another pause. Johanna’s smile faded slightly, suddenly she grew serious, pensive and remained silent for a while.

“What is it?” Cressida asked.

“You’re here to shoot the Mockingjay, right? That’s your job.”

Cressida nodded, rather confused as to where the conversation was heading.

“So, wherever she goes, you follow,” Johanna continued.

“Well that’s how filming someone usually works. Johanna, what are you…”

Cressida trailed off upon noticing the victor was glancing at either side, as if to make sure no one else was listening.

“So, you’d follow her even if she went to, let’s say…” Johanna whispered, “the Capitol?”

Cressida raised an eyebrow and smirked. So that was what it: a warning. What surprised Cressida was not the fact that Katniss was sneaking into the battlefield, but that Johanna trusted her enough to give her a heads-up about it. Cressida smiled.

“If she went to the Capitol, you bet your ass I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Of course,” Johanna replied, before giving Cressida a bit of an awkward spin after which she pulled the director closer. “You know, a moment ago, when you said you had something for me, I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“Oh, hopefully you weren’t too disappo—”

Johanna interrupted her with a kiss. It was a long, slow, almost gentle kiss. Completely different to the one they had shared years ago and, at the same time, an extension of it. Once again Cressida felt the electricity before the storm, and for a moment she thought that once they pulled apart, they would find themselves back inside the dressing room in Silas’s studio.

“Don’t die out there,” Johanna told her.

“I won’t,” Cressida replied.


	4. Chapter 4

District 13 had grown eerily quiet or at least so it seemed to Johanna. It was as if the entire bunker was suspended in some sort of limbo that would only break with dawn. They were all waiting for the beginning of the end. And it would be an end, whatever happened out there, win or lose, things were about to change for good. Meanwhile the night was quiet, and as Johanna walked down the dim corridors she wondered if Cressida would be awake. Probably not, but it was her last chance to see her before the director was shipped to the Capitol. And why did she want to see her? To say goodbye? No, she never liked that anyway, goodbyes were overrated.

Johanna noticed there was light underneath the editing room’s door. She knocked and waited for Cressida’s “Come in” to step inside. The blonde woman was sitting in front of a desk, alternating her gaze between two screens and a notepad. The room was small and narrow, and in the back there was an improvised cot with some blankets and a pillow.

“You know,” Johanna said, closing the door behind her, “when they first told me you slept in the editing room, I thought they were joking.”

Only then did Cressida look up. She glanced at Johanna and smiled.

“It’s easier this way,” she replied, before looking back at the screen and scribbling something on the notepad. “Plus, it’s a good way to escape Mesalla’s snoring.”

“You’re so weird,” Johanna said with a smirk, before sitting on the cot.

“Weird?”

“I thought people from the Capitol were supposed to be lazy,” Johanna explained, lying down on the cot.

“Well,” Cressida replied, as she wrote something down, “usually people from the Capitol are not trying to overthrow Snow either.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Johanna asked, looking at the ceiling. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“Already tried, not gonna happen, so I might as well do something useful.”

“You’re nervous,” Johanna said, sitting up. No, not nervous. She had been nervous when Johanna ran her fingers through her hair the first time they met. No, Cressida was scared, and it was the first time Johanna had seen her like that.

“I’m not a soldier,” Cressida replied, before putting the pen down.

“No, you’re not” Johanna replied. “But you’ve already done a lot better than many of them, so don’t sell yourself short, Cee.”

Cressida turned to look at her.

“Whatever doubts you have,” Johanna continued, “tell them to fuck all the way off. They won’t help you stay alive.”

That had been, more or less, her mother’s advice right after Johanna was reaped for her first Games.

“You’ll be alright,” the victor concluded, and when she said out loud she realized she believed it too.

“Thank you,” Cressida replied with a smile.

“And since we established you’re not getting any sleep tonight,” Johanna said as she stood up to walk towards Cressida, “I suggest we find a way to pass the time.”

“Yeah?” Cressida asked with a smirk. “What do you suggest, Jo?”

“We could talk,” Johanna replied, before kissing Cressida’s neck. “I can watch you work,” Johanna gently bit the same spot she had been kissing, and then she whispered in Cressida’s ear: “I can braid your hair.”

Cressida let out a small laugh before taking Johanna’s face between her hands drawing her in for a kiss, which Johanna corresponded with a series of urgent, fiery, kisses, as their hands explored each other. They only drew apart to take off each other’s’ shirts.

The little cot came dangerously close to collapsing several times, and it was so narrow Johanna did end up on the floor once. However, its narrowness proved to be a benefit rather than a flaw in the end, for it forced them to lay close to one another, and wrapped in that warmness, despite all odds, they managed to fall asleep for a few hours.

Johanna woke up alone. It had been a while since she had slept with someone she actually cared to see again the next morning, so seeing the empty space on the cot left a bittersweet feeling on her chest. Nevertheless, as she picked her scattered clothes from the floor, she thought it was probably for the best. After all, goodbyes were overrated.

The following days moved slowly. Just as the fighting intensified in the Capitol, time seemed to drag inside District 13. Johanna did her best to make herself useful. She pealed potatoes in the kitchen, she helped load ammunition in the hovercrafts, she wandered through the medical ward to take a look at the wounded that were brought in daily, and she checked up on Annie who more often than not forgot Finnick had left at all and looked for him all over the bunker. Nevertheless, no matter what she did, Johanna found the days lingered on and on, heavy and lethargic.

It had been over a week after Squad 451 had left to the Capitol when Bolts called Johanna. He was working in some sort of communications office, surrounded by screens, keyboards and machines. He clearly had spent many sleepless nights judging by the bags under his eyes and when she came in, he seemed to have forgotten why he had called her at all. However, before Johanna said anything he snapped his fingers and wheeled himself over to a nearby desk. From there he took a small chip and wheeled himself back towards Johanna.

“Cressida told me you were looking for this,” he said, handing Johanna the chip.

Upon seeing it, her eyes widened.

“Are these...?” Johanna said, looking at the chip in disbelief.

“I hacked the files for District 7. Those were the Peacekeepers Snow commissioned to…”

“Kill my family.” Johanna said.

Bolts nodded.

“Holy shit,” she continued, before looking up at him. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“It’s okay, it was easy to get, we practically have all the Capitol’s information now,” he replied, before focusing again on the screens and going back to work. Johanna wandered a bit around the room, she didn’t want to go out, back to the long hours of idleness and wait.

“Is there… anything else?” Bolts asked.

“Give me something to do,” Johanna replied. “Anything, just give me anything to do or I’m going to drive myself fucking crazy.”

“It’s always worse for the ones who are left behind,” Bolts mumbled.

“What?”

“That’s what my mother said when I was reaped,” he said, chuckling. “I told her I wasn’t sure about that.”

“No shit, I’d say it’s worse for the ones who might fucking die out there.”

“If you want to help, you can keep an eye on those monitors over there,” he pointed at some screens. “Just let me know if any of those blue dots turn red.”

“Good,” Johanna replied. “And uhm… thanks.”

For the following days, Johanna helped him around, it was all she could to make herself feel less useless. Meanwhile, she fantasized about hunting down the men in the list, one by one, and making them pay once and for all for what they did to her family. It was the only thing that brought her any solace as the days dragged on. And then, without warning, Caesar Flickerman appeared in one of the screens. Nothing unusual, for they had been following his coverage of the war, but unlike other days, he was smiling happily. He was there to announce the death of the Mockingjay.

Johanna stopped what she was doing and turned around to see the transmission. And there it was, clear as day, the entirety of Squad 451 entering a building, there were shots and then the whole place exploded and collapsed on itself. No one could have survived something like it, Johanna knew it as she watched the screen. No one, not Katniss, not Peeta, not Finnick, not… Cressida, no one could have survived that, and yet she refused to mourn them just yet. It couldn’t end like that, she wouldn’t believe it until she saw the bodies, until then, it could all be a Capitol rouse, a last effort to deflate morale, it had to be that.

“It’s fake, isn’t it?” Johanna said, looking at Bolts. “It’s gotta be fake, right?”

However, before he had a chance to reply, Plutarch called him for an emergency meeting. Alone in the room, Johanna looked at the screen where the image of the collapsing building looped. She heard her heartbeat drumming in her ears, she clenched her jaw and her fists, as an intense rage ran through her entire body, making her shake. Angry, furious, she was furious at them, had they really let themselves get killed like that? She was being unfair and she knew it, but she also knew there was no use arguing with her rage. She needed to let it out, punch, kick, shred, destroy, and so she left the room before she could damage any of the equipment. With a steady step, Johanna headed towards the training grounds. Nevertheless, as the victor walked down the corridor, she ran into Annie.

The other woman had not been feeling well lately. She was pale and constantly fatigued, so there were dark circles under her eyes and she was skinnier than before.

“Jo!” she exclaimed walking towards her. “Oh, Jo, you must know. You… you must know. There’s something… I know something’s going on, but no one is saying a word.”

Annie grabbed Johanna’s arm softly.

“It’s them isn’t it?” she asked faintly. “Please, I have to know.”

Oh shit. Cresta was right, she had a right to know. What good was it to treat her like a child who couldn’t handle the truth? Nevertheless, what was the truth? Johanna herself wasn’t sure. If the images were fake, what good would it be to make Annie needlessly worried, especially since she was already feeling unwell?

Johanna took a deep breath, she’d be honest with her.

“There was an attack,” she said.

“A-an attack?” Annie repeated, taking a seat on a nearby bench. “How bad? Is Finnick…”

She choked before she could continue.

“No one knows yet,” Johanna replied. She noticed Annie’s eyes had watered and her shaky breathing signaled she was about to start sobbing, which meant it was time to leave, for Johanna was definitely not the right person to handle any of that.

“I’ll get you some water,” Johanna said, but before she could walk away, Annie asked her to wait.

“P-please, would you… stay here… just for a moment?”

Johanna sighed, she ran a hand through her incipient hair and finally acquiesced.

“What am I going to do without him?” Annie asked, she seemed out of breath, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Her lips trembled and she covered her face with her hands, as she began to sob.

“We don’t… we don’t know anything yet,” Johanna replied, unsure of what else she could say to try and give Cresta some solace. However, she knew there was probably nothing she could say or do to make the situation any better.

_What am I going to do without him?_ The question seemed to linger in the air. What if Finnick was really gone? And the freaking Mockingjay? And… Cressida? One of the few people Johanna really gave a shit about. As Johanna placed a hand on Annie’s shoulder, she felt her own gut clenching as she realized she might never hear the director’s voice again or see her smile.

_It’s always worse for the ones who are left behind._

Shit, maybe it was.


	5. Chapter 5

When Cressida woke up, she noticed the sheets were stained with blood. The freaking stitches in her leg had reopened, again. She grunted, as she stood up from the bed. Being awoken by her wounds was not so bad, considering the alternative was to keep hearing Castor, Mesalla and Finnick screaming in her nightmares. Cressida picked the sheets and set them aside, she’d have to wash them quickly or else the stain wouldn’t come off. She soaked them on some water and then walked towards the window. With the push of a button, the shades went up, exposing the Capitol buildings.

It was hard to believe it was the same place she had fled from months ago, not only because most of the buildings had been severely damaged during the war, but also because of how different the entire world seemed. They had won the war. Sometimes she still had to convince herself that it was real. Outside, ash was falling like snow, even though the last bombings had taken place a couple of days ago. The sky had an odd purplish shade, darkened by scattered columns of smoke, but glimmering with the first rays of sunlight. It was dreamlike, everything was. _They had won the war_. The director could have stayed watching the view a little longer, but there was no time to waste.

Cressida showered, changed and headed towards Tribute Avenue. It wasn’t far. After the Capitol’s surrender, Plutarch had located Cressida and Pollux in a unit near Snow’s Mansion. It was a perfect location, since their work was just beginning: Their next mission was filming Snow’s execution the following day. It was a huge task, history in the making, and so, the film director wanted to make sure everything would be perfect.

Tribute Avenue was completely empty. The huge concrete corridor where chariots had once paraded would become Snow’s scaffold, a rather oversized one at that. As she walked up the bleachers, Cressida thought it was fitting. She wanted Snow to look small, a simple speck in the middle of an immense grey ocean. She stopped in the middle of the bleachers and looked down at the marked spot where Snow would be. It was a perfect angle, for the first time ever, the camera would be looking down at Snow.

As Cressida looked around, she remembered the times she had sat there to watch the parade. She remembered watching it next to her parents, getting frustrating because her mother wouldn’t stop chitchatting and her father’s friends would constantly come over to pat her head and pinch her cheeks. All she wanted was to watch in peace, she always preferred the parade over the Games themselves. As a little girl she had been dazzled by the horses and the gowns and the beautiful, fearless, men and women in them. For a while she even thought them lucky, lucky to become legends. What a foolish little girl she had been, luckily that girl was no more.

The sudden echoing of footsteps startled Cressida. Someone was rushing up the stairs, probably Pollux. She turned around to greet him, but instead of her cameraman she was met by another familiar face. She barely had a chance to recognize Johanna before the victor wrapped her arms around her. It was a tight hug, so much so, it made Cressida’s wounds ache, but the pain was well worth it.

“You did it!” Johanna said. “You fucking did it!”

“I didn’t do shit,” Cressida laughed, hugging Johanna back. “But I’m so glad to see you.”

“See _me_?” Johanna asked, pulling apart to look at Cressida’s eyes. “For a moment I thought you were gone.”

“I was lucky,” Cressida gave her a rather sad smile, for immediately the images of her lost crewmembers flashed in her mind. She heard their screams, remembered the blood in the water, the sound of bones being grinded into dust. When she looked down at her hands, Cressida noticed they were shaking. She tried to make them stop, but there was no use.

“It’ll pass,” Johanna said softly, and as she did so, she carefully took the director’s hands into her own. “Give it a couple of days.”

The director felt something sinking in her chest. The previous days, Cressida had kept herself busy. She made herself too exhausted to think and, above all, too exhausted to feel. But now, as they chaos came to a halt, and Johanna comforted her, all the emotions she had kept at bay came rushing in. The pain, the fear, the guilt, they all came at once and knotted the director’s throat. Cressida had never liked crying. Her father was a firm believer that it was an inexcusable sign of weakness and her mother had warned her that crying aged any woman terribly. Cressida herself thought it was a waste of time, and in this case, a waste of Johanna’s time as well, so she fought back the tears welling in her eyes. However, when Johanna placed a hand on her cheek, the tears began to slide down anyway.

“Shit,” Cressida said, brusquely wiping away the tears with the back of her hand.

She wanted to apologize, but she feared her voice would break and make things even worse. She sat on the bleachers and focused on her breathing. Johanna sat by her side. The victor said nothing but instead wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Cressida leaned against her, unable to stop the tears which fell one after the other, and when there were no more left, Johanna’s arm still remained around her. The director would be lying if she said she didn’t feel lighter afterwards.

“My mother always said crying is like rouge,” Cressida said, chuckling as she wiped away the last remnants of her tears, “a bit can be nice, but too much is not becoming.”

“Words to live by,” Johanna replied with a laugh.

“I’m sorry about that,” Cressida said.

“Don’t be,” Johanna replied shaking her head.

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I had to see you, and they told me you were at the Avenue.”

“I meant in the Capitol,” Cressida smiled. “But tell me more about how you _had_ to see me.”

“Shut up,” Johanna replied, smiling as she blushed slightly. “Coin called a special meeting with the remaining victors, all six or seven of us.”

“Seven?” Cressida asked frowning. “Is there really no one else left?”

“Not since I last checked,” Johanna replied, brushing off some of the ashes that had gathered on Cressida’s shoulder. “Of course, it could always be worse. Had the old bastard had it his way, there’d be _none_ of us left.”

Johanna paused and looked around the Tribute’s Avenue. Her eyes traced the track the chariots used to follow and then her eyes lingered on the Tribute Center.

“I fucking hate this place,” she said. “The parade was humiliating and everything smelled like horseshit down there. Did you watch the last one from here?”

“Didn’t watch it at all,” Cressida replied. “I was supposed to help Plutarch behind the cameras for the Quarter Quell, but I was discovered before they even began and had to flee to Thirteen quickly.”

“You missed my stellar performance, then.”

“It was better that way. I would’ve been distracted… worried.”

“Worried?” Johanna asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course. You were an important part of the plan, and… well… I hadn’t forgotten about the kiss either.”

“Admit it,” Johanna teased her giving her a gentle poke, “you had a crush on me.”

“As if you didn’t have one too!” Cressida replied. “I know you asked about me whenever you were in the Capitol.”

“I… I… who told you that?”

“I have my sources,” Cressida smirked. “For the record, I also wanted to see you again, but the timing was never right.”

“It never is,” Johanna said. Then she was pensive for a moment. “You know, last time I was here, I was sure I was going to die,” she continued, “but I didn’t mind because, for the first time, that would actually mean something.”

Cressida looked at Johanna and smiled.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Me too because tomorrow, at last, I get to see Snow get what he deserves,” the victor said, a fiery spark shone in her eyes as she spoke.

Cressida looked at her, it amazed her how quickly Johanna’s faced had transformed with anger. As much as the director believed in the Rebellion, and as much as she had fought for it, she doubted she would ever understand the passion with which Johanna hated Snow. How could she being to understand something like that? After all, Snow had taken everything away from Johanna. He had ruined her life, taken her family and her sanity, and turned it all into a spectacle. 

“I just wish I could do it with my own bare hands,” Johanna concluded. “At least I’ll have a decent view, first row and everything. They’re making this a whole event, aren’t they? They even gave us decent clothes for tomorrow. About time too, I’m sick of the grey jumpsuits.”

“Can’t wait to see how you look in the new clothes,” Cressida said.

“I can give you a preview if you want,” Johanna replied with a mischievous smile, “they’re back in my room.”

“Lead the way.”

* * *

The film director had attended Snow’s Mansion on multiple occasions, but she had never been to any of the private rooms. She considered herself very lucky for that. It wasn’t just luck though, she knew that it had been her father’s influence keeping her safe from the leering offers and wandering hands of commanders and gamemakers alike. However, now that they were gone, Cressida was curious as she stepped into the room. She was amused looking at the marble walls, the statues of men carrying torches, the blue rug featuring dancing women with flower crowns and the gilded poster bed where some five people could fit, and probably had at one point, given the nature of the parties that had once taken place in the mansion.

“It’s a criminal offense,” Johanna grunted before closing the bedroom door. “A fucking assault on the eyes is what it is.”

That made Cressida laugh.

“Believe it or not, I’ve seen worse,” the director replied before looking up. “Although those angels on the ceiling are really something. I bet you whatever you want they used to have cameras in their eyes.”

“Maybe they still do,” Johanna said, standing behind the director and rubbing her shoulders. “Who knows, maybe Heavensbee likes to watch.”

“Nah, Plutarch gets off on ideals not people,” Cressida replied. “If anything, it’s probably Coin watching.”

Johanna laughed.

“Let’s give her a show then,” she said before slowly kissing Cressida’s neck.

Cressida turned around and gave Johanna a fiery kiss, feeling her tongue against her own, as the two moved towards the bed. Johanna laid down and Cressida followed, placing herself over Johanna to kiss her neck and undo the buttons of the victor’s jumpsuit. Nevertheless, as she did so, Cressida noticed Johanna flinch and become quiet, tense. Cressida stopped and noticed there was a distant, uncomfortable look in Johanna’s face.

“Jo, are you okay?” Cressida asked softly. “We don’t have to…”

“No, no, I want to, I…” Johanna sighed. “It’s just this fucking room… it reminded me of…”

There was something in her voice that caught Cressida’s attention. She moved in order to sit by Johanna’s side. The victor took a deep breath before talking again, Cressida listened carefully.

“The last time I was in a room like this… He was a middle-aged man. I remember he had this very glossy, very shinny hair, lots of it and it looked unnerving because you could tell it wasn’t his, maybe a toupee or a transplant, I don’t know. He, uhm, he used a lot of fancy words and dropped names every two seconds because he wanted everyone to know he was a big shot in the Capitol, you know the type,” Johanna sighed. “Snow wanted me to fuck him.”

Cressida noticed Johanna’s hand fidgeting slightly with the covers of the bed, she leaned a bit closer to the victor.

“Of course, he never said it. No one in this fucking place ever calls things by their name. It was always ‘you know how it works’ and ‘the gentleman needs to be entertained’,” Johanna snickered. “And I could’ve entertained him alright. You know? Put on a smile, get it over with, just like Finnick did, like everyone else did, easy. But no, I had to be so stubborn, so fucking stubborn. I didn’t want to do it, not even once, because I knew if I let them start, there’d be no end to that shit. So, I said no. Not only that, but I had to go ahead and make fun of this guy’s stupid fucking hair.”

Johanna looked down and after a brief pause she let out a chuckle. Not her usual snarky chuckle, but a rather stale, forlorn snicker.

“I actually thought I’d get away with that,” she said shaking her head. “And I killed them. That’s how I killed my family.”

Cressida felt her chest ache, upon hearing Johanna talk like that. The director wished there was something, anything she could do to make the victor’s pain go away, she wished there was a way to at least shoulder some of it herself. Very gently, Cressida reached for Johanna’s chin. With the tip of her fingers, she guided the victor’s face towards her own to look into Johanna’s eyes. Then Cressida spoke gingerly but without hesitation:

“It wasn’t your fault, Jo.”

Cressida noticed Johanna’s lips quivering slightly. Without looking away Johanna answered:

“I’d really like to believe that.”

Then the victor looked down. She cleared her throat and shook her head slightly. Eager to change the subject, Johanna looked at a dark bruise on Cressida’s chest and asked if it hurt, as she gently traced it with her finger.

“It looks worse than it really is,” Cressida said.

“My mother used to make this juice using potato starch to make bruises go away.”

“Potato starch?”

“I don’t know what else she put in there, but it worked like a charm. One time she was lumbering when a log fell on her and her right foot went black. She used that shit and it was back to normal like in two days.”

“Your mother was a lumberjack?”

Johanna nodded. “Taught me and my brother how to use an axe.”

“Your father too?”

“Oh no, he couldn’t even chop wood right. He was a carpenter, and a pretty good one too. One time he bought a violin at the black market because he wanted to learn to make them, but my father being father ended up learning how to play it instead.”

“Did he ever teach you?” Cressida asked, smiling.

“He tried, but I didn’t have the patience for it.”

“I play the piano.”

“Really?”

“Had lessons every day for a couple of years, I didn’t like it much but it was either that or sticking with ballet.”

“Ballet?" Johanna asked, turning to face her. "You?”

“My mother wanted me to have ‘impeccable posture’. Go ahead, laugh.”

“With the tutu and everything?” Johanna asked making no effort at all to hide her chuckling.

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

Johanna laughed harder and Cressida couldn’t help to join in. For a moment it was easy to forget everything else, the war, the ones they had lost, the upcoming turmoil. For a moment that was all there was, a garish room full of their laughter.

The next day, after all the commotion following Snow’s failed execution and Coin’s death, Cressida would return to that same room looking for Johanna only to find the place empty, and the victor gone.


	6. Chapter 6

“Come back,” Elroy told her as he hugged her tightly. “Just come back, loser.”

It didn’t seem like his voice, it felt borrowed, borrowed from a somber and scared, stranger. However, Johanna felt his chest vibrate with each word as her brother’s arms held her tighter. _I don’t want to go, Roy._ She pushed the words down her throat, she couldn’t say them, not even to herself. Her mind had to focus on one thing and one thing only: survival.

“Don’t dare fucking dying, Johanna,” her mother’s voice, on the other hand, was exactly the same as it was when she was scolding her for leaving her clothes on the ground or slamming the door.

However, when she too came for a hug, Johanna noticed the tears in her eyes. She couldn’t stand the sight of them, and her mother knew it, that was why she stepped away quickly and did her best to wipe them off. And then there was her father, who had been completely silent since her name was announced. When he finally talked to her, he was out of breath. He placed a hand on Johanna’s shoulder and looked at her in the eyes, as if he was about to give her some vital strategy, the key to winning the Games.

“They have the power to take your life, Jojo, but never your will to live,” he said. “No matter how hard it gets, promise me you won’t give up.”

At the moment his words angered her. Giving up? Did he really think she’d give up? She didn’t need to hear that, she didn’t need some poetic bullshit about the “will to live”, all she needed was a goodbye, plain and simple, and he couldn’t give her that before she was escorted out. It was only when she was on the train, that Johanna realized her father had begged her to something he himself wouldn’t be able to. If it were him on the arena, she knew, he would rather get himself killed before hurting someone else. She, on the other hand, would not hesitate. However, the thought of her father in the Games lingered in her head. Suddenly she had an idea, a semblance of a plan.

When Johanna returned victorious, the first thing she thought upon seeing her family again was _They look like shit._ The three of them looked like they were the ones who had survived the Games instead of her. Pale, tired, older. Elroy was the first to greet her, his hair was disheveled and he was growing an uneven, rather unflattering, beard.

“You look terrible,” Johanna said, just as he hugged her tightly. When she hugged him back she realized he was considerably skinnier.

“You look worse,” he replied, still hugging her. “And just so you know, you’re still the same loser to me.”

“Let her breathe, let her breathe,” her mother intervened, stepping next to Johanna who was startled to discover her mother had a black eye and a broken lip. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” Johanna asked.

“A stupid accident, doesn’t matter,” her mother replied, placing her hands on Johanna’s cheeks. “All that matters is that you’re here. You’re here.” 

“Mom got in a fight with one of the neighbors,” Elroy said laughing.

“It wasn’t a fight,” their mother intervened.

“The guy didn’t like your act,” Elroy continued. “Said you were a disgrace to the whole district, so mom politely told him to apologize,” Elroy said smiling. “The poor bastard’s still limping.”

Johanna laughed loudly. That night, to celebrate her victory and say goodbye to their old house, her family had gotten several barrels of stout, cigarettes and some decent sausages to serve along with her father’s signature rabbit stew, all of which were going around as familiar and new faces kept appearing to hear Johanna recount the events of the Games. Even though she found herself enjoying the moment, there was something bothering her deeply.

Her father had remained eerily quiet since her arrival. Aside from hugging her when she stepped out of the train, he had barely looked at her. He couldn’t, she realized. Did he hate the deception? The violence? Johanna could only imagine his face as he looked at his own daughter brutally murdering one child after another. He probably couldn’t face her without imagining the blood stains on her face. But she couldn’t take that, so when everyone had left, she went to the porch, where her father was picking up some of the leftovers of the party.

“I got it,” he said, as he picked some papers from the ground. “You should get some sleep.”

“I did what I had to, you know?” she replied, though she tried to speak firmly, her voice came out shaky. “It’s… it’s a rotten deal, okay? B-but I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Jojo, what—?”

“Look at me,” she interrupted him. “Just look at me. I-I’m not proud of everything I did, but fuck it, I had to do it, dad. And I get it if you’re scared of me now, but—”

“Scared?” he asked, he seemed genuinely surprised. He set the papers aside and walked slowly towards her. “Sweetheart, I’m not scared of you, I could never be scared of you.”

“Why have you been avoiding me all day then?” she asked, sitting on the porch. “You can’t even look at me.”

“It’s not… it’s not because I’m scared,” he sighed deeply and slowly sat by her side. He looked down at his own feet as he spoke and fidgeted slightly with his moustache. “It’s because I’m ashamed of myself, Jojo.”

He looked up then and for the first time since she had left, he really looked into her eyes.

“I’m your father,” he continued. “It’s my job to protect you, to… to make sure nothing bad happens to you, and I couldn’t save you, I couldn’t do anything. I _failed_ you.”

“Dad…”

“I’m sorry, Jojo,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I’m sorry this happened to you, but I promise, I’ll _always_ be here for you, come what may. There’s nothing you can do that would push me away, you hear me?”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Not even if a told you the rabbit stew was a bit soggy?” Johanna smiled and placed her head on his shoulder.

“We’d have to have a serious discussion on the matter,” he replied, placing his arm around her. “But not even then. I can never stop loving you, Jojo.”

“I love you too, dad.”

* * *

Johanna crossed another name off the list. Another dead man, another dead end. No one knew exactly how Cassius Mellinger had died, but he was among the war casualties in District 4. Johanna did nothing to hide her anger upon finding the records, and punched the table loudly. Mistaking her rage for grief, the clerk walked up to her to give his condolences.

“I just hope he suffered,” Johanna replied, shoving the records back into the stunned clerk’s hands.

For the past few months, Johanna had devoted herself to tracking, one by one, the men who had murdered her family. After the fiasco at Snow’s execution, she had realized that whatever justice she wanted, she would have to get herself. If she wanted to avenge her family, she had to do so immediately, no time for distractions, she owed them that. She owed them a lot more than that, to be honest, and so far, Johanna hadn’t managed to give them anything. She had traveled from district to district only to discover that the war had beat her to it. At least the journey to District 4 wouldn’t be a complete waste of time. She was not only planning on visiting Annie, but she had also heard Cressida’s film crew was in the area.

More specifically, the director was filming by the sea.

The sea… It was true that Johanna had come to tolerate raindrops and showers, but there was still a long way to go when it came to dealing with water. Facing a filled bathtub was out of the question, so then how was she going to go near the fucking sea? Perhaps, it was better not to go. Cressida would be busy anyway. And who said she’d even be interested in seeing Johanna? And, most importantly, she was supposed to be finding justice for her family, not wasting time like that. Johanna was well aware of all of it, and yet she found herself on the rocky coast, trying to ignore the sound of the waves.

As she walked, Johanna tried to focus on the white clouds crossing sky, the big rocks underneath her feet and the old lighthouse ahead. The structure was crumbling apart, and a bomb had left a missing chunk where wires and pieces of concrete pocked out. The light was broken and the walls blackened by fire. She tried to focus on it, but the sound of the waves crashing down the coast grew louder and louder. Her hands began to shake and her breaths became quicker and shallower.

Johanna tried to focus on the film crew circling the lighthouse, even from the distance she could spot Cressida’s golden hair. She hoped the director had put on some sunscreen on her head, else she’d end up burnt. The quickness with which that concern had come to her head would’ve startle Johanna, if she wasn’t busy avoiding the sound of water splashing. She walked quickly towards the crew, one step after the other, no time to look at the sea. She was drawing near when a particularly big wave crashed against the rocks, sending droplets flying to her face. All air left Johanna’s lungs at once. The binds on her wrist grew tighter, she heard the voices of her captors in her ears, the water covered her nostrils, her throat, she prepared for the upcoming electric jolt, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t scream. The edges of her vision blackened, and she only heard a faint “Breathe, breathe,” before everything went black.

A strong smell of eucalyptus and lavender brought Johanna back to reality. As she struggled to catch her breath, she looked around. Gone was the beach and instead she found herself in the middle of a strange living room. She seemed to be lying down on a sofa so she tried to sit up at once.

“Careful there.”

Johanna recognized Cressida’s voice immediately.

Slowly, Johanna rubbed her head, the world was still spinning slightly around her.

“What happened?”

“You had a panic attack,” Cressida explained. “The doctor says it’s fine, but you really scared me there for a moment, which is kinda unfair since I’m mad at you.”

“Mad?”

“You’re such an asshole, Johanna,” Cressida replied, frowning. “You could have talked to me before leaving the Capitol or called, or sent a message, a smoke signal, whatever, just something to let me know you were okay and alive and that nothing terrible had happened to you. No one knew where you were.”

“I…”

“Disappearing like that for _months,_ months!” Cressida continued, by her voice it was clear she was genuinely upset, “I swear, you’re lucky you passed out because I might have slapped you.”

“I didn’t think that— I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d care, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Cressida’s expression shifted suddenly. Slowly her frown disappeared into a concerned look.

“You didn’t think I’d care?” she asked, not with the previous anger, but with a quiet disbelief.

Johanna would have preferred the anger. Anger was her native language, but the hurt in Cressida’s tone was not only uncharted territory, but it was also far more disquieting than any insult.

“Yell at me,” Johanna said.

“Why...?”

“Because you’re right, I _am_ an asshole.”

“Why did you think I wouldn’t care?”

Despite Johanna’s pleas, Cressida’s anger did not return. Instead, the director waited calmly for an answer, focusing her big blue eyes on the victor. Johanna looked down at her own hands to flee from those eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Johanna said in a low voice.

Cressida took a deep breath, she ran a hand through her hair.

“Where have you been anyway?” she asked.

“Where haven’t I been?” Johanna replied, looking at her. “I’ve been all over trying to find the bastards.”

“The bastards?”

“Bolt— Beetee’s list.”

“Oh, and how’s that coming along?”

“Like shit. The few people I’ve been able to track were already dead.”

“Is that why you came to District 4?”

“Among other reasons…” Johanna replied, blushing slightly. “You… how about you? What have you been up to?”

“Traveling, filming the aftermath of the war. I’m exhausted, but it’s a lot better than filming the actual war. Your hair looks nice by the way.”

“Thanks,” Johanna replied absent-mindedly grabbing one of the locks falling on her shoulder. “So, does yours.”

“Where are you going next?”

“District 2, this guy, Sulla Antrim, is supposed to be hiding there. But before that, I was thinking about visiting Cresta.”

“I want to see her too. I found some extra footage from the wedding, and I think she’ll like to have it.”

“We could go together,” Johanna said rather too eagerly which made her blush again, she cleared her throat and added calmly: “If you have time.”

“We’ll be wrapping up filming here the day after tomorrow.”

“Good, we’ll go then.”

“Alright… Annie’s staying at her parents house… have you ever been there?” Cressida asked.

“No, why?” Johanna asked.

“It’s by the sea”

“Shit, why does everything around here have to be next to the fucking sea,” Johanna complained, clenching her jaw.

“That’s sort of how coasts work,” Cressida replied, with a smile. “We can meet her elsewhere.”

“No, no, she’s all pregnant and shit. I’ll… I’ll find a way to go without fainting again.”

“Okay then, we’ll think of something.”

That “we” made Johanna smile, any amount of time with the director made her heart flutter in her chest, and she quite disliked that. That very feeling had been the main reason she had left the Capitol without saying goodbye. It was during Snow’s execution that she realized it. As the mob rushed forward, Johanna’s first instinct was to look around to make sure the director was alright. That was what she did. She didn’t rush forward to join the crowd, she didn’t even see the attack. After years of fantasizing about it, she actually missed Snow’s death. When that realization hit her, she knew she couldn’t, she simply couldn’t, let the same happen to her family’s murderers. If she were to be honest, she’d have to say that leaving wasn’t only a matter of believing Cressida wouldn’t care, it was also about forcing herself to do the same.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while! February was full of deadlines, but hopefully I'll have more time now. As always thank you for reading and greetings from Colombia

The problem: the sound of waves. The solution: Noise cancelling headphones, stolen from the set. No, not stolen, Cressida argued, just borrowed. Would it be enough? Cressida watched as Johanna tried them on. The director leaned over to help her adjust them and then asked if it as working. Johanna replied with a loud “WHAT?” before lowering the headphones.

“I think they work,” Cressida said, laughing slightly.

Though Johanna smiled, Cressida could see the angst in her eyes. Even though the sea wasn’t even in sight yet, she noticed the victor was fidgeting with her shirt as she kept glancing around. Cressida spoke to her in an unusually soft voice:

“It’s okay if, at any moment, you don’t want to do this anymore.”

Johanna remained silent.

“We can use a word,” Cressida continued, “you know? Like a safe word for when you’re not doing well.”

“I can’t remember the last time I was ‘doing well’, but sounds good,” Johanna replied with a faint laugh. “What word?”

“Something that doesn’t usually come up in conversation, like…”

“Wart?”

“Something rarer.”

“In what type of conversation is ‘wart’ going to come up?”

“I don’t know, it just might!” Cressida laughed slightly.

“Cucumber?”

“Yeah, that’ll do,” she concluded. “Ready?”

Johanna nodded and put on the headphones. They began to walk towards the beach, as the sound of the waves grew louder and the air became salty. When the first glimpses of blue appeared ahead, Johanna jumped slightly, and she got closer to Cressida. It was odd to see the victor like that, and Cressida wished there was a way to spare her the pain, but all she could do was reach for her hand and hold it. Johanna squeezed it tightly, and didn’t let it go as they kept walking.

Ahead, Cressida spotted the house. It was nice yellow cottage at the end of a wooden pier. Cressida had run into Annie in town and learned from the victor that the place belonged to her mother.

“The house at Victor’s Village is bigger,” Annie had said, “but it just feels so… lonely”. 

She had let out a sigh and Cressida had struggled to come up with anything comforting to say.

“I’m glad mom will be there to help me with this little one,” Annie continued, placing a hand on her belly. “You should come by some time.”

The house was in great shape, it was covered in a noticeably fresh coat of paint and was surrounded by flower pots of different shapes and sizes. The pier itself seemed a bit more down trotted, some sort of moss or algae was crawling on the pillars and parts of the railing had fallen down. Johanna looked at it, frozen.

“I… I thought it was _by_ the sea,” she shouted, unaware or unbothered by the volume of her own voice, “no-not _in_ the mo-motherfucking sea.”

“Do you want to stop?” Cressida asked, but quickly realized Johanna couldn’t hear her, so she instead mouthed, as clearly as she could: _Cucumber?_

“No… I can… A moment,” Johanna gasped. “I just… need… a moment.”

Cressida nodded and watched as Johanna focused on inhaling and exhaling. However, she noticed every breath was shallower than the last. Cressida was quite familiar with panic attacks, Pollux would suffer from them every now and then. When he did, she knew the best she could do was help him steady his breathing and that it often helped to get him to focus on something specific, something to direct all his attention towards. Cressida squeezed Johanna’s hand and then pointed at Johanna’s eyes before pointing at her own. The victor seemed to understand the command and kept looking into Cressida’s eyes. Cressida inhaled deeply and exhaled. They stayed like that for a moment, and Johanna’s breathing began to improve. With a nod, the victor signaled she was ready to keep walking.

Cressida did so without turning around, to make sure Johanna would keep focusing in her eyes. She took small cautious steps and guided both of them down the pier. Cressida noticed Johanna was trembling and she squeezed her hand tightly whenever a wave came crashing against the pier, but she didn’t stop. And then, they found themselves at Annie’s doorstep.

The door was already open, for Annie had been waiting. She smiled gingerly and welcomed them both with hugs. Annie’s ability for treating everyone like an old friend never ceased to amaze Cressida. In a matter of seconds, Annie complimented them both, guided them to the living room and made them feel completely at home. Cressida and Johanna sat on a cream-colored couch, while Annie did the same in a yellow armchair.

“So, what have you two been up to?” she asked, with a sweet smile.

Cressida glanced at Johanna, who was still terribly pale.

“Not much,” the victor mumbled. Cressida noticed Johanna was digging her nails on the arms of the sofa. Perhaps now that she had the headphones off, she’d needed a moment to adjust to the murmur of waves outside. Johanna had squeezed Cressida’s hand so tightly it was throbbing.

“I hadn’t seen you in a while…” Annie replied. “I was a getting a bit worried there, to be honest.”

“We all were…” Cressida said in a low voice.

“Oh, uhm… I was just busy with some… things I had to deal with,” Johanna said, “don’t worry about it. How are you, how’s everything going with the baby and all?”

“Still three months to go before I meet this little one,” Annie said, joyfully. “Mom says it’s probably a boy, but I want to be surprised. In the end, all that matters is that he or she is healthy.”

“Do you have a crib already?” Johanna asked. 

“Not yet, I’ve been looking at some in town—”

“No, no, I’ve seen the wood you use around here, there’s no way I’m letting you get one of those weak-ass cribs” Johanna replied. “I’ll get you a good one from Seven, something made of _real_ wood.”

“Aww that’s very sweet, Jo, but you shouldn’t bother,” Annie smiled.

“Please, it’s the least I can do since lately I’ve been…”

“A bit of an asshole?” Cressida said.

“I was going to say MIA, but sure.”

“Are you sure it’s no trouble?” Annie asked.

“Cresta, I cannot, in good faith, let your kid sleep in anything less than the best wood Seven has to offer.”

“Alright then,” Annie smiled just as a ringing came from the kitchen. “Oh, the food’s ready. I’ll be right back.”

With that, the ginger woman stood up and walked out of the living room. She noticed Johanna seemed a bit more relaxed now.

“It was nice of you to offer,” the director said, rubbing the hand that had been left aching after Johanna’s grasp.

“It really is the least I can do.” Johanna replied, before looking at Cressida’s hand. “Hey, are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, see?” Cressida asked, opening and closing her fist. “All good.”

“I should’ve called you, and I should’ve called Annie too” Johanna sighed deeply. “I told Finnick I’d look after her. I’ve been doing a shitty job at it.”

“Well, you can start doing better. Plus, you’re here now, so that’s gotta count for something.”

“After I get Antrim, I’m coming back here to help around. Maybe fix that railing outside.”

Cressida couldn’t help to chuckle.

“What? The kid could fall or something.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely a child hazard,” Cressida replied. “I just think it’s a little optimistic to think you could fix that, given… you know…”

“I’m doing better. Before you know it, I’ll be swimming and shit. Of course, it’s easier when you’re around.”

Cressida blushed.

“I think it’d be easier if I fix that railing,” the director replied.

“You?” Johanna asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m handy.”

“People from the Capitol are _not_ handy.”

“I am.”

“How many railings have you fixed?”

“I’m also a fast learner.”

Johanna laughed, just as Annie waltzed back into the living room with a tray.

“I made some crab cakes and cucumber sandwiches!” she announced gleefully.

Cressida and Johanna exchanged a look upon hearing the word _cucumber_.

“And you didn’t want to use ‘wart’” Johanna said, prompting Cressida to laugh. She quickly joined in and even Annie laughed, even though she had no idea what they were talking about.

That joyfulness remained as they ate together, and Annie told them about all the clothes and toys she was getting together for the baby, and she excitedly told them about her plans for the nursery. Even though she described little things like the fabric for the curtains or the wallpaper colors, her voice was full of passion, so much so it was hard not to share her excitement over every detail. Then, Annie talked about District 4 and how everything was changing for the better. They were making a park and in the main square they were making a plaque for Mags and another one for Finnick. Upon saying his name, Annie’s expression grew gloomy, and she seemed to be lost in thought for she remained silent with a distant gaze.

“I…” Cressida started with a soft voice, careful not to startle Annie. “I found some extra shots from the wedding.”

The director reached for her pocket to find the chip with the footage.

“I thought you’d like to have it,” she concluded, gently handing the chip to Annie.

Annie looked down at chip on her palm, and then she looked at Cressida.

“From the wedding?” she asked with incredulity.

Cressida nodded and before she could say anything else, Annie stood up to wraps her arms around the director.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking. “Thank you!”

“It’s nothing,” Cressida replied.

“We should watch it,” Annie suggested.

“Now?” Johanna asked.

“I’m sure there’s a screen thingy around here somewhere,” Annie stood up. “Cres, you could help me set it up, couldn’t you?”

“Sure,” Cressida replied, while Annie left the living room.

“I don’t know…” Johanna whispered. “Do you think this is a good idea? I mean… it might be too much, it might make her upset.”

“Well if it does, it’s better she watches it with someone and not alone.”

Johanna smirked.

“Do you ever get tired of being right, Cee?” she asked.

“No.”

After setting the screen, the three of them sat on the sofa to watch the footage. Annie’s hands trembled as she anxiously fidgeted with her dress, rapidly, almost violently. Johanna reached for Annie’s hand and held it, and Cressida couldn’t help to smile at the sweet gesture. Then the clips began, they were a bit rough, sometimes out of focus. There were some shots of the ceremony, Annie and Finnick kissing, their first dance as husband and wife with a. skewed angle, Annie and Katniss hugging, Johanna toasting with Finnick as the two laughed loudly, and then the final shot. A rather blurry image of Finnick hugging Annie from behind, humming gently as the two swayed slightly, as if a soft breeze was rocking them, Finnick whispered something in her ear, Annie closed her eyes and smiled. The screen went black afterwards.

Cressida looked at Annie, silent tears were streaming down her face and her chest trembled, but there was a smile on her face, almost as sweet as the one that had appeared on the screen.

“We were so lucky,” she said. “Weren’t we?”

Cressida said nothing, but simply placed a hand on Annie’s shoulder.

“Very lucky,” Annie repeated in a low voice.

Those words lingered in Cressida’s mind long after they left Annie’s house.

It was dark outside, which made it easier for Johanna to walk down the pier, judging by the fact that Cressida’s hand was not throbbing by the time they left the shore behind.

It was a pleasant night for a stroll. The yellow streetlamps cast a warm glow on the road while a playful breeze made the trees rustle. They were not in a hurry, so they walked peacefully side by side.

“I can’t stop thinking about what Annie said,” Cressida mused. “I mean, after everything she’s been through, all the people she’s lost, to be able to look back and be _grateful_ is just so…”

“Nuts?”

“Brave.”

“I guess that too.”

“ _Lucky_ …” Cressida repeated.

“That’s not the word I’d use for any of us.”

“What word would you use?”

“I don’t know… fucked?”

“I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive.”

“Fair,” Johanna smiled. “I kinda get it, though. I mean, when you think about all the things that had to work out for her and Finnick to find each other, to be together, even if it was just for a while… what are the odds of that?”

“Yeah… pretty crazy for two people to find each other like that.”

“I thought about looking for you after Snow’s execution,” Johanna said. “I thought about it a lot.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Same reason you didn’t wake me up when you left Thirteen,” Johanna replied, “It would’ve been harder to leave.”

“I _had_ to leave.”

“So, did I, Cee,” Johanna stopped walking. Cressida did the same and looked at the victor.

“I owe this to my family,” Johanna concluded.

“I get that,” Cressida sighed deeply. She could see the town ahead, so the moment they had been dreading had finally arrived. Goodbye. “I really hope you get what you’re looking for, Jo.”

“I… Thank you for everything today, I mean it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Cressida smiled and pointed at the headphones. “I will be needing those back though.”

“Oh, of course,” Johanna replied handing back the headphones.

“Well, I guess—"

“District 2,” the victor interrupted her. “Have you been to District 2 already? To film, I mean, not in general.”

“We filmed there a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh… I just thought, since I’m going…”

“Are you inviting me to your murder quest?”

“No, I... I mean… I just thought you might… want to come to take some shots… and… Yeah… I guess I am… Do you want to come to my murder quest?”

“How romantic.”

“It’ll be fun, and I promise you won’t have to do any of the murdering, unless you want to.”

“I don’t,” Cressida replied, as she looked at Johanna. She couldn’t help to smile. “Alright, I guess I could go get some more shots of Two.”

“Let’s do this.”


End file.
